


Bound By Thread

by MintQueenJo



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, I honestly could've hated Mal more in this story, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Red String of Fate, Saint Alina, Sankta Alina, The Darkling isn't the Darkling in the beginning, The fold doesn't exist, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintQueenJo/pseuds/MintQueenJo
Summary: It’s meant to guide you. A thread so thin only the saints could tell where it went, and for as long as she could remember she could see it. She could tug on it and watch it reverberate with the echo of something to come. She would follow it, one foot in front of the other with no hesitation when it became visible. It brought her this far, and it could bring her farther.A red string wrapped around her wrists and connected only once in a woven string ring around her ring finger. Only she could see where it truly ended, for it was only meant for her.And she would always remember the man connected at the very end.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Bound By Thread

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a story for the Grisha trilogy. I've also only read the first book and skimmed the other two probably because I really dislike Mal and can't stand reading about him.  
> Even though I don't treat his as bad in this story.
> 
> This is part of my April 2020 CampNano project, I plan for there to be three chapters and possibly an epilogue.

It’s meant to guide you. A thread so thin only the saints could tell where it went, and for as long as she could remember she could see it. She could tug on it and watch it reverberate with the echo of something to come. She would follow it, one foot in front of the other with no hesitation when it became visible. It brought her this far, and it could bring her farther. 

A red string wrapped around her wrists and connected only once in a woven string ring around her ring finger. Only she could see where it truly ended, for it was only meant for her.

And she would always remember the man connected at the very end.

The little glass beads in her mousy brown hair caught the light, little rays of the sun danced from where they were casted. Her brown eyes seemed alight as if the sun shone from within her, so travelers had said. She was only eighteen and had been greeting guests for almost five years now.

They called her the sankta lumo for the many days in and out she had now spent at the temple.

When she was younger, much younger, she had lived on the streets. Her childhood friend Mal and her, until Alina got a job for a few coins a week patching up torn bed linens in a brothel at the edge of the small town, they had called home for a few months now, Novokribirsk. It kept her busy and off the streets since she got to sleep in the Madam’s room, then a room next to the Madam’s. Much to the insistent Mal that when she came of age the Madam wouldn’t hesitate to sell her to the highest bidder. Alina had laughed only being twelve — not knowing how close she was to her first bleeding.

When it finally came she woke with a fright, screaming that she had been injured in her sleep, with no mother to teach her and only knowing bits from listening in the halls as the women took their clients to bed. Maybe tossing her a coin in passing, the women liked her around. She aimed to please them, probably from never having a family of her own— so when she had woken up the sleeping brothel with her screams and the Madam who was downstairs entertaining guests. Their reactions came as a shock.

Thinking the worst, that a client had decided that the prostitutes in her employment were too old for his tastes, the Madam had rushed in gun brandished and ready to fire at the offender. The clunk of the metal hitting the floor as it slid through slender work roughened fingers at the sight of young Alina sitting upright in bed hand coated in the sticky red of her first menstrual blood, her face pale as tears leaked hotly from her lower lash line. The clean hand held the white linens away from her, showing the soaked bed clothes underneath, including the young girl’s own nightgown. They would all be stained and the young girl couldn’t figure out why she was bleeding so much.

The only thing the Madame could do was fetch one of the girls not indisposed for the time being to help clean up the mess. With gentle hands the Madam smoothed back the damp brown locks that made up the young girl’s hair as she sat in the copper tub in the middle of the room.

“You are a woman now, Alina. And a woman’s job is very different in this place. I apologize.”

Hushed whispers, and a few outcries, even though she was bleeding just shy of thirteen was still too young the women that posed as her elder sisters felt.

But not young enough for her to not learn the arts of the trade.

And strangers, war roughened soldiers and deserters, were none too inclined to ask what a child was doing in a brothel. Whores had children all the time, she must’ve belonged to one of them. Or they started young at some point.

And she was going to start young, better to earn her keep, so Alina had felt, than to end up out on the streets.

That was until the day a decorative duke had passed through the doors.

He wasn’t anything special at first, he didn’t hold her interest— not the way he held the others. A duke meant money, but Alina was fine watching Mal do his stupid little coin tricks from outside the brothel window. It was a birthday tradition, he came by with whatever copper or silver he had earned from polishing shoes or standing on a box handing out food scraps to anyone desperate enough, hungry enough, that paying three silvers for a worm bitten apple seemed anything but ludacris. He placed the coin between two fingers and would run it along his knuckles as if the little shiny circle had feet to stand on and legs to walk with.

He would make it vanish from one hand to the other before her very eyes.

Her rosy cheeks flushed from delight, laughs filling the small space, and during the early chill in the air her breath would fog the glass panes between them.

She could see herself marrying Mal, if they both survived that long. He would earn enough coins to pay the Madam, even though Alina was sure that Madam would let her go willingly. Alina felt she was like a daughter to the childless woman, a daughter that she had purposely been putting off teaching too much of the tricks and trades of fine whoring. She could see herself dressing up the little cottage the two of them would own, maybe a child or two with their tiny dirt covered feet leaving smudges on the wooden floor she would have to leave.

Soft kisses by a fireplace as the sun set. She would be the dutiful wife and he would find work, maybe a farmer or he’d make boots.

It was a happy life and in it was just her and Mal.

A happy dream until the duke had come into town.

He had seen Alina laughing through the window and took the chance to walk through the blue doors of that very brothel on a chance.

“Ma’am,” his nose was slightly scrunched up as one of the handsier women approached him, the strap of her slip sliding over one pale blemish free shoulder. The pert rosy nipple on full view as the front bunched down. “Madam,” he continued once more, not bothering to spare a glance towards any of the suddenly lonely and very needy prostitutes. “How much can I give you for that little girl?”

The air took on a chill as Alina’s head snapped towards the balding man, the horror on her face must’ve matched the Madam’s because the man’s hands were up.

“No, not for that. May we discuss the matter privately?”

Mal stayed for as long as he could, pressed against the window, understanding that something was wrong by the adults and Alina’s worried expression as she looked from him to the duke. Something very wrong must be going on in the brothel because soon it cleared out of any patreons, only the workers stayed in the sitting room. All eyes trained on the office door.

It opened and Madam stood over the threshold with her arms crossed.

“Alina, come.”

Shaky legs carried her across the boot scuffed floor, the greying hair of the elder woman even more pronounced— as if in the half hour they had been talking more grew out of her scalp. The young girl was very worried, would the Madam let this man buy her?

“Alina,” her name was called again and she hadn’t noticed that she had paused halfway through the threshold to turn back and look at Mal, still there pressed against the window. “Alina, you will be going away for a while.” 

The words were a slap once the door was firmly closed. Not that it did anyone any form of privacy, the women just beyond the door were probably already listening through the fine drinking glasses reserved only for the richest, if not finest dressed, of their guests. “Alina, it is very important so you must listen.”

“Hello, Alina, is it? How old are you?” The man sitting in the nice velvet sitting chair had his eyes trained on her.

Three fingers were held up then slowly put down to raise up four instead. One on one hand three on the other. It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak, the Madam made sure to educate her as well as her childhood governess had educated the Madam as a spoilt child.

“Perfect age. Listen here, Alina. I have a favor to ask. My name is Duke Keramsov, and I was traveling with a legion of soldiers required for a very important job.” Her brown eyes darkened as she watched the hair above his top lip move with each syllable. “You see we had a little girl traveling with us. She was about your age and suddenly caught fever and passed. She was important to us, you see she was going to serve as what the villagers in my town refer to as the sankta lumo in the temple near my town of Keramzin. It’s a high honor to be selected as the figurative embodiment of such a saint. Each saint is selected through tests that are held if any certain suspicion arises like that of a divine influence guiding that young girl with a red string so they say. Most of these girls don’t have that ‘red string’ hogwash but they are pretty and do whatever they can to impress, usually from hard lives and living conditions they long to get away from.

“Well, I can’t go back to the temple empty handed and all was lost and that ‘red string of hers’, which is what we will tell the acolytes that were traveling with me, must have led me here. They will take it as though the Sankta Lumo chose a new vessel. I saw you in the window—”

“What is a red string?” Alina interrupted, curious because sometimes she swore she felt a string wrapping around her wrist and tugging her around.

The man seemed shocked, his clear eyes flickered towards the fire, over the Madam, and back to the little girl in front of him. “It means destiny, it’s a string that guides you where you’re supposed to go, so they say.”

Was that the feeling she had, destiny telling her where to go?

She could see it, always with her. It was a pull in a direction. It brought her to the brothel on a cold winter afternoon.

“I would like you to stand in the place of Santka Lumo for me. All you have to do is bless those that come to you and pray. Nothing more. You wave your hand through some smoke, it wafts towards the person, you give a nod and they’re gone. Easy, no one will know your name or where you are from. You will be the Santka Lumo.”

“For how long?” Madam had asked, sitting behind her oak desk already leafing through papers. She didn’t seem too willing to let Alina go. “My _daughter_ is very importa—”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it would be for the rest of her life. The Sankta Lumo serves until they die and when they do it is believed their soul will go in search of the next girl that she can use as a vessel to speak her will through.” From his tone alone Alina could tell he didn’t believe in any of it, she didn’t either. But for the rest of her life?

There went her little cottage with Mal.

But.

The red string never tugged when she thought of him.

No, it pulled as if it was trying to lead her away, and right now it was pulling her — _binding_ her — to something. Something that had made the string wrap around the duke and his horse drawn carriage stopped in front of the brothel.

It was a tug that had Alina agreeing, knowing she’d miss the Madam and the women but she needed to go. As she left the study all the women that had treated her as a younger sister sat waiting, knowing she was leaving. Alina had no doubts that they had overheard even as they innocently looked around. She knew, she knew when the eldest and longest working stood up when the Madam walked out.

“Are you selling her to another brothel? She is part of our family.”

“Silence.” That word was quiet but also sharp, and unshed tears gleamed in her eyes as she looked away from the little girl that had been staying with her for a few weeks under a year. Would they write to her? Would they be allowed to? Would they remember her?

With a few gifts and dresses packed in a satchel and a hug from Mal, and no time to explain she was seated on fine white leather.

“It would be best for you not to speak. They will ask you to remain quiet.” The duke had told her.

The road was bumpy and she slept fitfully, there wasn’t anything to look at. Dead grass from the winter and dead trees with snow heavy low hanging branches that scratched the roof of the carriage. So instead Alina chewed on the end of a lock of hair, the strands sticking between her teeth as glassy eyes that stung from unspilled tears stared out the window. The tugging had calmed down but part of her worried that she had made the wrong decision.

Maybe the tugging was just cramping from her next bleeding?

The sky was dark when they pulled past a mansion, the duke had gotten out, nodded once to the driver, and turned away as the carriage took off again. With a yelp Alina slid back to the window and noticed that he was walking away with her belongings. Where was she going if he was staying there? Why did he take her stuff?

Sadly and soon Alina found she had to abandon all material possessions that were not gifted to her — to the Sankta Lumo — for a saint clinging to such humane objects divided her soul.

“She smells like a whore house,” the middle aged woman who had pulled Alina from the carriage wrinkled her nose. “Was she found in a whore house?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The driver shrugged before turning back around, no doubt to head back to the duke’s.

“Well, I,” narrowed eyes surveyed the tangled hair, spit soaked in some areas around her pale neck. “You’re not much to look at, too skinny and too sunken. A good wash is what you need, dirt and grime everywhere.”

That was how Alina had met her caretaker for the rest of the woman’s life, Ana Kuya. Her nose was hooked as she looked down at the girl before taking a bony wrist in hand and dragging her up the temple steps. Her pointy fingers dug into Alina’s tender scalp as she was bathed, and dressed, and tucked into bed. “Tomorrow we train you.”

And train did she before the sun had even fully risen. She was woken before sunrise and was to retire at sun down, when Sankta Lumo was at her most powerful. Scripts saying that darkness was her weakness, and would ruin her purity.

How to sit back on her haunches, ankles crossed, and breathe in the smoke of burnt herbs and incense, even when it made her nose tickle. The heavy gold jewelry that hung from the new holes in her ear lobes, the sweat that collected at the base of her throat from the high necked robe she was to wear. Her hair was braided with little beads, the purpose to make it seem like the light bent and reflected around her aura.

And to make it seem as if light had come from within her. Alina swore sometimes that it felt as if she was actually glowing.

But it was all a facade for the people of Keramzin.

To put more pressure on her, Alina was instructed to raise her hands every now and then as if she was to bless someone and hum, give vague answers so that if anything were to go wrong she wouldn’t be blamed. Just the people who didn’t listen as the saints had wanted would be to blame.

Minutes stretched into hours and hours into days, soon days became weeks then months. Months changed with the seasons and soon years had passed with her just sitting and humming. Humming and breathing in smoke that was to keep her purified from the sins of those she was to bless.

Smoke that they had told the concerned villagers that would cleanse the Sankta Lumo from every negative entity that they brought to her temple or she wouldn’t be able to bless them. They fear mongered the people to believe they were evil when her bleeding would start.

A saint wasn’t supposed to bleed. Alina stayed in her rooms, Ana Kuya turning down wanderers that their beloved Sankta Lumo had taken on a particularly hard client and needed to be isolated for a few days to recharge.

Only once did she forget to keep track of the days and nights and during one congregation she had doubled in two as red seeped through the white of her gown.

“She’s ill with the misdeeds you bring forth,” Ana Kuya had screeched just like she was trained to do, just like she would train her successor to do. Everyone who had come before and after her would do anything to ensure that it was never found out how unsaintly the little girl that became the Sankta Lumo would be. Because Saints weren’t supposed to bleed and if they bled that meant they were human and if they are human then why are they locked in a temple? Or worse.

An infatuated man could steal her away.

It had happened before the acolytes had whispered when Alina reached fifteen, and even though she was still sickly looking, her breasts had started to develop even more. They told her she was too undesirable to be worried about but it had happened and the girl was cast out for falling pregnant, even if it wasn’t her fault.

So Alina kept track of her bleedings and made sure to never be left alone with a man. This was all she had known. All she would ever know and for that she couldn’t go back. Sometimes her thoughts wondered to Mal and if he was okay, but soon she hated herself even more when he came to her mind. She had left him yes, but her threads hadn’t been pulling her towards _him_ and that wasn’t her fault.

Those same threads have been eerily quieter since she arrived behind these white walls. Until one evening she woke eyes focusing on the lack of moonlight filtering in through her window and balked at the rolling thunder that crashed through the air. A storm.

A storm like no other was hinted at, and like the storms before it the villagers would gather to pray to her to let the sun shine out so their crops and cattle wouldn’t drown in the flood.

The storms were never bad, a flickering of light. It would be over soon.

She dressed in her robes and braided her hair back, face washed and free of any impurities, anything that would lead a man to temptation. The wind howled outside and the patter of rain had started soon turning into a hammering of thunder as sheets fell from the sky. She could already hear the moaning as she neared the common room, a small fake smile plastered on her weary and tired face.

She was tired.

So tired and she once again thought of what her life in Novokirbirsk would have been, the brothel would have been more fun. She would’ve had more fun but would Mal have married a whore? A harlot?

Alina’s feet froze right before the door, a heavy echo of thunder cracked through the air, and a slice of lightning that came down from the heavens — as if the actual Saints were angry with the sham the village had inflicted upon them was an abomination — tore through a few of the surrounding trees. She could hear the windows in the front blow out extinguishing any candle light in the front. Screaming started as the branches of the smoldering trees fell against the walls, some thick enough to tear holes into the roof.

It was dark and the wind was screaming, or were the people making that noise? The awful screaming and moaning as the room around her lit up with more streaks of light, lightning crackled through the air again and again until the room was just permanently lit up.

It happened again, a tug. And she could see it, the red threads that were only for her tying around her hands and leading her to the common room as if she were to hold a sermon. The hands before her had shone as if she swallowed a star, as if she was made from the very fabric that had made the sun.

Sankta Lumo, indeed.

The creak of the door was loud in her ears, but not the loudest noise that was going on. Pitch black and her light shone over crouched and cowering bodies. Children wailing in their mother’s hold as the rain blew in sideways from the broken windows.

Gasps arose as they laid eyes on their shining saint.

Praying started and Alina just stood, the brightest thing in the dark room as she pushed her light out and lit every dark corner. ‘She has come to bring us hope.’ ‘She has brought light.’ They all whispered, ‘holy light. Sankta Lumo.’

It became apparent when she had reached a boy no more than twelve protecting his mother, a cut across his forehead. That string curled around him and she reached out with a glowing finger and touched the wound, watching as it sealed up before her eyes, leaving no scar.

She would be worshipped even more.

Alina was given gifts. She didn’t want them but she was given them nonetheless from appreciative villagers. And apprehensive villagers who were too scared of her now withdrew their support. Many that were there now stood outside the temple accusing her of stealing her light and that the bad would happen because she was there. That Alina was a blight in disguise sent to lead them astray. The other half accused the acolytes of imprisoning her holiness in a physical form and that’s why the girls always changed.

That the Sankta Lumo was burning through her mortal bodies too quickly.

That didn’t stop people from traveling to see her, didn’t stop men from bringing in their infertile wives to be blessed to bear children. From a son and daughter bringing a third of their crops as payment to continue for their fields to be fertile as well. Alina was still tired, even now that her freedom became even more limited, suffocating her within white walls was the goal of her keepers she had decided.

“Sankta Lumo,” an acolyte of barely eleven had bowed in the center of her room, laying across her plain bed was a white high necked gown with silver beading. It would catch the light and while the gown was the same as it had been for years, the beading was only around for a couple of weeks.

She was to always look her best, but now the King's advisor was coming. It seemed that the King of Ravka wanted an audience with the Sankta Lumo but would not fall short of any scam — or his advisor for that matter.

So Alina sat and waited, a veil over her plain face.

A veil because since that night of her performance the gauntness of her face hadn't receded. Even though she was tired of poached herring and white rice. Of potatoes with no taste she ate very little past the point of throwing up and yet her skin had not plumped out. She was supposed to be luminous and thriving but instead she was sickly. And the Sankta Lumo could not look like she was close to death.

Because of that no one was allowed to look at her face, even though the reasoning was claimed to be that she was too holy for their worthless impure eyes. Would the advisor believe that?

She hoped so, but Alina hoped not.

She tried to picture him, settling on the image of a wrinkly old man with patchy grey hair.

An old man who, when exhaling, would blow dust into the air. Ancient. Boring.

She could hear faintly as the heavy wooden doors to the temple opened and Ana Kuya had rushed to greet the man, their voices a whisper that drew closer. Deep and soft was his voice, it betrayed no hint of age and Alina frowned. No old man should have such a delightful sound come from his lips.

“Sankta Lumo,” Ana Kuya had bowed before the young woman, clad in her white as brown eyes took in thick dark hair on the man next to her. If she was months shy of eighteen then he couldn’t be any older than twenty-four. Not a wrinkle on his face, no age spots on his skin, nothing that didn’t scream health and youth.

His dark eyes stayed trained on the spot Alina was sitting at, one perfect eyebrow raised as if to inquire if this was all there was to it. To her.

“This is his majesty’s royal advisor, Aleksander Morozova. He is here to worship?” The elder woman’s voice held all the disdain the small village felt for the royal family. A weak family that caused more wars than peace. “Do you have a gift?”

“I would think that the saints didn’t ask for gifts from the people who came to lay their grievances at their feet.” A tilt of his head as his eyes never left Alina, her hidden eyes watched as a few strands of hair fell across his forehead. “How do I believe you that this is _her?_ I hear that you replace the girls here in your temple as if they were nothing more than trash.”

“How dare—” Ana Kuya is silenced as he holds up a finger to his lips, a smirk teased his face. Her face reddened with anger before a curt nod was given. 

“Leave us,” Alina moved her head, the veil shifting as she did.

She didn’t break her eyes away from the man before her, not as Ana Kuya had vanished from the room. The woman never stayed when the Sankta Lumo tended to people, not since the young woman hissed and cursed the other woman for hovering. Alina wasn’t allowed to answer and Ana Kuya would answer everything for the woman as if she was a toddler incapable of speech. Now that Alina knew they couldn’t afford to banish the beloved Sankta Lumo from her temple, Alina took her chances to let her _handler_ know how she felt.

Alina was absolutely fascinated by Aleksander, she’d like to say that it was because he was different. Because he was new.

But that tug came full force the second she had lain eyes on him, the thread loosened from around her hands and seemed to drift towards him. Quivering with pleasure in his presence did the threads caress him before her eyes.

The few remaining acolytes dropped to the floor when she lifted her hands, fingers shaking, towards him. Towards Aleksander Morozova because she was being drawn to him.

“Have you come to be healed?” She asked into the quiet room, holding his stare — she wondered if he knew she was looking at him, looking at his face — as she willed a faint light to glow from her fingers, her palms. If it had grown brighter it would have winked out at his silence. Instead nothing pushed forward, that hunger within her rumbled but stayed put. “Maybe not? I do not wish for gifts, maybe a story of travel? It does get lonely behind these walls.” She let herself rise up, she wasn’t allowed to but she was being drawn to this man in his dark blue clothing with the red embroidery along the hems. His dark eyes stayed trained on her, the veil on her face and her hands that fell back to her sides. The few stone steps under her bare feet were cool as she took that first step, each one brought her closer until she stopped two from the end.

“Did the King ask you to come and stare at me then? Did he ask you to see how I was being treated? I’m given everything I could want, never tired, or hungry. I never long for—”

“Yet it does get lonely behind these walls.” He repeated what she had just said. “I would think you nothing more than a fancy trick these people have been using to swindle money from the poor.” His posture while loose and hinting at him being relaxed was alert. “Prove me—”

“Do you have an injury?”

“No,” there was amusement. Lifting up a foot towards himself he retracts a small hidden knife from inside his boot and brandished it in his left hand. Clearing the space between them he curled the blade up in his palm and without flinching pressed, a tangy smell filled the small amount of air between them. His eyes held hers even through the covering and the knife clattered to the floor. “So, Sankta Lumo, do your worst. Or your best.”

He held his hand out, cut palm up. She just stared at his hand, the threads curled away and trembled before going still. Not now that daily growing ball of power had whispered inside her, it grew hungry in this man’s presence, but the threads whispered not now.

“I’m sorry I must not be feeling,” she blew out air and bunched a flowing white sleeve of hers to dab at the pooling blood. The sharp intake of air was her only hint that the cut was deep and hurt at the touch. “I must not be— please may I have a story of your travels before you leave disappointed?”

“We leave before the hour is over, bring whatever you feel is important.” He turned from her, letting her blood stained sleeve fall.

Ana Kuya was purple as Alina was loaded into the back of a dark carriage, marveling at the crushed velvet that lined the seats. She didn’t bother changing out of her gown, the veil still on as she prepared to leave. Who would replace her at the temple? Would those who hurled insults at her as the carriage passed feel safer that someone who didn’t steal power from the gods left to be somewhere else?

Did the duke know she was leaving?

The carriage pulled to a stop before the door opened and a man with wavy brown hair just looked at her before inspecting the insides, as if she had done something, before moving away and letting Aleksander climb in. The jacket he was wearing was partially open as he slouched back against the seat across from her. They began to move again before his voice broke the silence. “Forgive Ivan he normally has manners but with the kings failing health we are in a bit of a rush.”

“Ah,” she swallowed, so unused to speaking so much now. “I see. So the king wants me—”

“For show,” his eyes stay trained on the paper now in his uninjured hand. “And then when we show up and it’s revealed that you’re nothing more than a hoax you will be sent back. I couldn’t turn you away because if I went back empty handed I would be reprimanded for not trying. You don’t know which one is the worse option for me at the moment.”

She was ravenous as she held out a hand for his, “give me your hand.”

With a huff he placed his hand in hers, a cloth tied around the wound. She placed her other one on top of it and in the setting sun the interior began to glow faintly then all at once a ray of light as if the sun was trapped with them. It winked out like always, unable to control it and never allowed to practice to learn how to. Dark eyes were wide as he pulled the makeshift bandage off and inspected the pink line of the cut. It wasn’t fully healed but it looked as if it was at least a week old, already scabbed over and healing.

Their eyes met once more through the veil before her brown ones rolled into her skull and she went slack. Slumping toward the ground with sudden exhaustion.

A cold cloth on the back of her neck was the first sensation to come to her as she regained consciousness, blinking away the soft memories of coin tricks in a brothel window. At some point she felt that the veil had shifted around her and no longer covered her face. Instead of making a move to right it she curled up more in the seat and leaned her head against the siding.

Her gaze when she opened her eyes again met Aleksander’s straight on, papers laid out beside him suddenly uninteresting. His hand seemed to be cast more in shadow before, with a blink clearing the sleep from her eyes, did everything return to normal.

“It is a neat trick they’ve trained you to do.” She flushed and he continued to speak, “when we arrive at the palace you say very little to the king until I have spoken my findings with the necessary people I need to. You may speak what you wish to people just not about this not yet. Not when if this gets out I couldn’t imagine—”

“People already know that I can—”

“They _think_ they know what you can and can’t do. They think they know what you are. But outside of your little village they see you as a fraud, a sham run by a money hungry establishment. And I’m inclined to let them think that until it should be stated otherwise.” He leaned closer, “if it is proven true Ravka can not handle another war over—”

“Someone so unimportant? A circus trick?” Alina crossed her arms, faintly aware of her sleep mused hair and the beads that were probably matted into some of the strands from being there for so long. A strand wrapped around a finger before it moved to her lips.

Those eyes of his watched as she pathetically chewed on her hair, memories sprung forth of another carriage ride. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” She waited, breath halted for his response.

“For someone raised in a temple you don’t look well groomed.” He reached across the space and pulled the hair from her mouth, “if not for your voice I would think that they kept their _Sankta Lumo_ for themselves.” He snickered around the name, “ridiculous.” Given me a decoy as to lose their money maker.”

“It is a name but it is my name.” Came her only response.

Her chin jutted upwards with a haughty attitude she has seen Ana Kuya give to those who begged to be seen by their sankta with no offering to be given, people who truly needed her.

“I’m not going to call you that. What is your name?” A pale slender hand slid through his hair, dark eyes flicking from her face then down her body before back up to her face.

A chill went down her spine at that look. She paused thinking over his question, he had already seen her face now, but instead she turned her gaze to the passing trees outside, not wanting anyone to know of her upbringing or her name as of right now. Aleksander seemed to have taken it as a dismissal and he shrugged briefly before turning back to his papers. Normally the quiet would bother Alina, because outside of the praying in the temple her own rooms were too quiet. But the quiet in the carriage wasn’t driving her mad.

It took two days to get from Karemzin to Os Alta, the carriage never stopped, just blew through their stops. Until they had bounced down a worn road turning towards a gaudy palace behind gates, her heart hammered when they pulled to a stop. Alina’s fingers dug into the cushions.

The wavy brown haired man — Ivan, Alina had to correct herself — opened the door nodding once to the man across from her before letting Aleksander leave. “Come, Sankta Lumo, time to be a part of palace life.”

She fixed her veil before it was snatched off her, brown hair clinging to the fabric. “What?”

He opened his mouth as if to say something before a man and woman interrupted him, much to what seemed to be annoyance.

“Aleksander,” the woman motioned for them to come over and Alina took in the red jacket she wore, a royal jacket that belonged to a soldier, much like Aleksander’s only there was no embroidery. “The King wishes her to be readied first. This is very serious.”

Something had him stiffen, “I see. So this isn’t just for seeing if she is ‘holy’ and the Queen?”

“As mad as a snake. Could almost spit, too.” one glance to Alina as the man next to her turned and did what he was probably hired to do: guard.

Alina barely glanced around the outside of the palace, eyes taking in every detail as she takes in the gaudy structure once more. Finding every inch of it ugly. She was led out through a garden and back into a smaller palace, people in the front paused their activities to watch her with curious eyes. She was led through the front entrance, up stairs, and down hallways lined with doors to rooms. They reached one and her companion made to open the door when it opened from the inside. A red head was just heading to stand outside to probably wait for their arrival she guessed.

“Genya,” he holds out a hand as the three of them enter the room, with envy it’s noted how beautiful the other woman seemed, her amber eyes gleaming with so much emotion as they traveled over Aleksander’s form. They lingered on his face as her eyes crinkled with an even wider smile. Absolute adoration, something Alina had seen in the villagers faces when they would visit the temple and look at her.

“You are back, the king has been restless for this new improvement.” Her voice faltered on the last word when she took in the mousy girl next to him. “Oh?”

He took the pale skinny hand next to his and nodded to Genya, “let’s not keep the king waiting. Do you mind keeping the Sankta for her until she feels more at home?” And almost as if an afterthought, “and a bath, and some clothes. Nothing fancy for tonight’s meeting.”

“Nothing special?”

At the other woman’s words Alina got the feeling that they were no longer talking about the clothes and it struck her deep in her chest. While both of them were beautiful to look at, their personalities had so much lacking.

“Sorry,” she ducked her head with a quiet mumble, she knew she wasn’t much even for the position she had. It was something she knew she’d be reminded of for the rest of her life.

“I will leave her to you so I may tend to myself.” He was turning away and out the door that snicked shut softly behind him before she could open her mouth to speak, to thank him for bringing her here. Even if she was a disappointment and would embarrass Aleksander in front of the king.

“Well, let’s get to it. Normally I would pull out all the stops but knowing that if I do, Aleksander would be very upset.”

“I don’t see why—”

The redhead, Genya, helped her strip down and into the porcelain tub. Alina ducked underneath the water and waited, maybe if she stayed down long enough they’d get the hint that she was a mistake they were wasting their time on. She wished she never agreed to go no matter what the threads told her to do, no matter what the threads had her feel that night in Novokribirsk as she looked at him. The more stuck she felt the more a brothel wouldn’t have seemed so bad. Her eyes opened and fire was above her in thick strands as Genya rested her chin on her folded arms on the edge of the tub. Her amber eyes held so much remorse even for the pretty cream double breasted button up dress coat she wore. She was too beautiful to have such a look, nothing had to be denied to her with her face.

She would have been the most wanted in the brothel. Able to buy her freedom or stay if she wished.

Alina would’ve been a disappointment with her gaunt frame and plain features, maybe she truly had nowhere to be.

Soon with lungs burning Alina breached the water sputtering. The sputtering turned into sobs, great big racking sobs, that shook her and had the water splash over the edges. As if lit by a candle the crying stopped so suddenly like the flame being blown out. A deep breath and she rolled her neck.

“Are you okay?” a lathered cloth ran along her shoulders and back.

“Fine,” no one could see or feel how the threads quivered and went searching, searching for that dark man.

A soft knock on the door as she was dried and sat in front of the mirror at a vanity so her hair could be combed through. How much did Genya know about where she came from? Would she just attend to her the whole time she was in the palace because it was what Alina was used to? Not being able to do anything for herself, would she even be able to survive on her own?

“I would dress you much like myself, in a gown that would show you off but,” a pregnant pause as she held up a plain grey dress. “This will have to do. Advice Sankta Lumo, do what he says even if it goes against the king. It will prolong your life and happiness here. As someone who has to—”

“What do you do when you’re not attending to me?” Alina cut her off, not wanting a speech.

“I am a lady to the queen, I attend to her and at night I attend to the king.” The weight of her words showed what she meant.

“You mean you?”

A nod, “and if you don’t listen to the— if you don’t listen to Aleksander then I wouldn’t put it past the king to decide to have children with you. Powerful children if the whispering about what you’re able to do is correct. Though you don’t look much, _now_ , a few weeks here with me and you’ll be easily more beautiful than the queen.”

Alina wanted to scoff at the idea of someone like _her_ being more beautiful than a _queen._

The knock against the door sounded loudly through the new silence in the room. With a jolt through her body, Alina watched as the threads grew and twisted around the knob. Her heart hammered as it opened and Aleksander slipped in, an eyebrow raised as he assessed the room then them. He walked to where they were and Genya nodded in passing before leaving the room Alina will call her own for who knew how long. She met his dark eyes in the reflection of the mirror as he ducked down.

“Follow my lead. When I tell you to show the king what you can do,” he whispered, lips so close to her ear, his breath caressed the skin. “You do what I say.” Her breath caught as their eyes met once more. An emotion passed over his face, it made him cross his hands behind his back, he looked as if he might — as if he wanted to say more.

They stayed like that for a few breathless seconds and those threads glew brightly as they wrapped around him, testing to see what would be done. She watched his eyes freeze over and harden when he pulled away.

“I see Genya took care of you.”

The sourness in her stomach was shocking, Ana Kuya would reprimand her, for whatever that feeling was it was immoral. Nothing a Sankta should feel.

“She’s very nice,” Alina couldn’t say anything else. “I’m sorry your wife had to spend her time with me, given that you’ve been away for days.” While she didn’t note a band on his hands, there was a look that the other woman had for him that Alina could place between the couples that would visit her. Love.

A smirk before a quiet dark chuckle. “Come Sankta Lumo, your _king_ awaits.”

He held out his hand, that dark tempting smile still on his face as she placed her own in his, letting him haul her up and toward the door. “There are fates worse than death, worse than being trapped in a temple. And if you do what I say it’ll save you from finding out what it is.”

Her hand rested on his arm as she tucked into his side, “when this is done I do have someone I would like you to meet, Sankta.”

A nod as she took him in from the corner of her eye, he was in a black jacket that was high collared and edged into a train that stopped at the back of the knees. His hair was combed back, he looked better than he did in the carriage. But the longer she looked at him, at his face, the more she understood why Genya would be his.

They walked into a great room — the throne room.

If she hadn’t been staring at him she wouldn’t have seen the tightening of his jaw, or really realize how his hand over hers on his arm tightened just slightly. The little sun they got on this cloudy day had warmed her, or maybe she had warmed herself especially with the dark look Aleksander casted towards her. “Sorry.”

She relaxed, eyes looking around before Aleksander came to a stop, a stop she didn’t quite meet and nearly pulled him down over her own clumsiness. He grunted low as he pulled her upright, a deep frown on his face.

“Sorry,” was thrown out once more.

“Remember, do what I say. Please.” He leaned in whispering as he fixed his clothes from where she pulled.

The king was a round weak looking man, with a weak looking jaw, his mouth seemed loose with rubbery lips, she had decided. It was said he had two children and Alina didn’t know how with his looks, but money and power were more intoxicating than looks. And the blue eyes he had were watery as if he was always sick, drunk, or both, the man in brown next to him leaned in close mouth moving. Alina didn’t look at the woman next to them for long, only noting with how Genya stayed close, and by the red in her cheeks that became purple the more the king stared at the mousy girl, that was the queen.

“So, boy,” Aleksander bristled at the name, at the man. “Is what we heard true?”

A shrug, “she faintly glows. Show him. Show him what you can do like a light in the dark.”

Faintly glows? Alina got flustered, angry almost, at how he called her abilities nothing more than a glorified night light. But she went lax with a squeeze of his hand as he backed away.

_Do what I say, please._

So Alina did just that, she pushed down on that power and let it poke through her fingers as nothing but a faint glow. That she could do, she would do, in the temple after lights out she would glow so she could read, so she could pretend she wasn’t alone in the dark.

There were murmurs and the priest next to the king stiffened even straighter and raised his brows in interest at the glowing girl in the middle of their throne room.

“Is that it?”

The king’s harsh words cut through her and she winked out, “that is what all the murmuring is about? That?”

“She is a saint to the people who have visited her. It is a title.” The brown robed man said, leaning in again.

“Aleksander, boy, this is disappointing.” The king looked to the man next to him as he spoke and she wondered if the king was nothing more than a puppet for religion. Alina flinched at his words and looked to her companion, would he be punished like he thought? Maybe she should speak up.

Opening her mouth to mention her healing abilities Aleksander slightly shook his head. “I thought that if I arrived without her you would be far angrier than just seeing for yourself. I will admit though that if she arrives back so soon the people may anger, this is their beloved Sankta Lumo.”

“Holy light,” the priest hissed. “That is a holy light? That is nothing more than a flicker of—”

“It’s far more than what, the head of the acolytes told me, was the other girls. It seems that she is far better at doing her job of being still and quiet,” it was a reminder for her to close her mouth and wait. “And during storms she glows to relieve the people. Having her leave here in shame and outrage would offend those. And during war, people would not offer to help our soldiers for they would remember these small slights.”

“Very well, she may stay here until the Winter Fete is over. Then she is to head back.” It was an end of discussion, a dismissal and Aleksander turned away taking her hand and placing it on his arm again. Those threads flared up again and hissed away from the king to wrap around the two of them tightly as they left the room.

“Rest tonight, tomorrow I will introduce you to Bahgra. And Sankta,” he smiled as they headed past the gardens back to the Little Palace, “you did wonderful. It’s better to think of you as less of a threat than a baby maker. No doubt what the king wanted. It would be what the Apparat would tell him to do. Holy children to fight a war he plans to never end.”

“Are you not the king’s advisor?” She was shocked and came to a halt in the doorway, her eyes flicked from his face back to the main palace, confusion clear.

“Only in battle. And even then he barely listens to me. Well, goodnight, Sankta Lumo.”

“Alina.” She whispered, it was the first time she had said her name to anyone. She wouldn’t have told him but with how the threads loosened and reached out to stroke his hand on hers.

“Alina,” he repeated, a slight nod of his head. “Alina.”

Her insides fluttered at the way his voice dropped, her name leaving his lips like a secret he planned to honor, but she wrote it off as being too stunned at someone finally saying her name. A name she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone because to be the Sankta Lumo she was to be just that, no hint of the little girl that grew up in a brothel. “Thank you, for saying my name. No one knows—”

“Alina,” he smiled, saying it once more. “No last name?”

She shrugged, unsure of what her given name once was, it was lost so long ago. She found that she forgot her last name over time, wasn’t even sure if she had one from the start anymore. “Oretsev.”

“Oretsev,” he repeated with a scrunch of his nose. “Where are you from?”

“I don’t remember, it was so long ago.” And a look entered his eyes before he dropped her hand taking a quick step back.

“I will meet you after breakfast in the morning. Do get some rest.” She watched his back as he walked down the hall away from her.

At least the bed was soft, Alina decided later when realizing she had nothing but the grey dress Genya brought her to wear. So fingers reached up and pulled the pins from her half up do and they clinked on the floor as they fell from her hold. The buttons holding the back of the dress she struggled with but eventually unhooked and slid the cotton down her body until it pooled around her ankles on the floor. Naked she climbed into bed too tired to get under the covers and instead closed her eyes doing her breathing that she used to relax in the temple.

It wasn’t late the sun hadn’t set yet but being stuck in a carriage traveling for the past few days had left her exhausted.

Everything about her situation left her exhausted and who was she to deny that bit of happiness at going to bed early with no one to complain?

Falling asleep wasn’t easy and instead she rolled off the bed and leaned near the window, careful of anyone outside— if anyone was outside as the sun set. She let a faint glow radiate from her palm as she looked around the outside. It was greener than Keramzin and the air seemed fresher but that could just be the fact that the closer to the palace you got the richer it all was. The lawn was definitely better cared for.

She felt for the outer ring, the undesirables were there, her people were there.

What would she be expected to do?

It was strange having no one there to wake her up in the morning for prayer. And with no clothes except the grey dress and the dirty one she came in there wasn’t much for her to wear. Smoothing her hair down and sliding back into the grey dress she walked down the halls until she could find out where food was. Her stomach growled more than it ever had.

What she assumed was the dining area had a handful of people in grey soldier jackets, forks dropped as she walked into the room. Eyes scanned for any familiar — even if she only knew Aleksander and Genya — face and when there wasn’t one of the two she teetered in place. What was she to do, even as some stopped eating and stared at the strange, sleep deprived girl, who stood in the threshold of the communal eating area. Feeling embarrassed if not overwhelmed she slowly backed away and headed back to her room. She’d ask someone to bring her bread or something later.

She paused next to the open window and instead went to find a way out, retracing her steps from the night before to lead to the garden. Maybe Aleksander would find her for that meeting or whatever he needed her for. Maybe the King would tell him to send her back?

The sun was out, even though the air had a bit of morning chill it warmed her. She tucked herself into a spot next to some rose bushes and just sat, eyes closed with her face upturned.

“You’re missing breakfast.” An unfamiliar voice spoke to her, it was close and she slit an eye open. He’s tall and blond, eyes blue with a strong jaw. There’s a nick on his chin that she can only see at the angle she was looking up at him from. “You must be the Sankta, since you look so out of place. And don’t seem like a soldier.”

“I guess it’s that obvious,” she stretched her legs out. “Am I in your place?”

“No, you were just wandering around so I-”

“Decided to follow me?” Suddenly uneased by this man her lips pressed together and she closed her eyes again.

“So how did you get picked to be Sankta Lumo for your temple? Was it a rite? If you didn’t get your bleedings?” He sat on the ground next to her, she assumed by the shuffling and groaning he did. “I’m very curious, I did a lot of traveling when I was a tad younger. Where are you from?”

A throat clearing had her eyes shooting open, a pale sharp faced girl stood unsteadily glancing between the man beside her and Alina. The blond man shook his head and held a finger to his lips before getting up and swiftly walking away. Alina watched him go before looking up once more to the other girl.

“I’m Nadia,” she held out a hand waiting for Alina to take it. “Aleksander told me to find you. You missed breakfast and you’re late for a meeting?”

Taking the hand offered to her she stood and walked with the girl, “who was that?” She asked and brown eyes looked at blue ones who answered with a shrug. If she didn’t know and Alina didn’t know then there was no figuring it out herself.

“Sankta,” that dark voice smiled in her ears and Aleksander was righting his jacket, that same black one he was wearing in front of the king the day before. His eyes traveled up her crumpled grey dress with a frown on his face, then turned to the woman next to her. “Zhabin, when you are done with your rounds please find the Sankta some more clothes to wear. Preferably at least two tunics, and two pairs of pants, boots, slippers, and a few dresses.”

“Sir,” she gave a light bow and then left the two standing there.

“Sir?”

“Soldiers call me sir, or Aleksander. Some call me by my last name but that’s only in front of the king or other advisors.” He took her hand once more and led her down a path through the woods. “Who you are going to meet, you are to keep it secret. What they have you do, you will keep a secret. These meetings will happen every other evening or morning depending on when she wishes to meet with you. I can’t stay every single time but I will check in when I can. Baghra will take care of you.”

She gasped when they approached a little cottage, one much like what she wanted when she was younger. The chimney spewing out thick smoke from a fire that must’ve been blazing inside.

The door opened before the first knock, “boy, are you here for your morning visit?”

A thin woman answered the door, she looked only ten years older than Alina, but with how she curled in on herself with a walking stick for support, she seemed so much older. She slid her eyes past Alina and rested them on Aleksander. “I hate your eyes, stop having that redheaded witch do that to you.” Then back to Alina, “leave us boy, you come.” Her frail seeming grip was surprisingly strong as she hauled the Sankta into her cottage, slamming the door closed on Aleksander’s amused expression. “He does it to anger me, everything about him. It just angers me and he knows it so he does it. You girl, what can you do? I heard the king is debating sending you back nothing more than a showy candle. But that boy must have some interest in you, if he had you lie to the King like that.” They were out the back door and Aleksander was waiting, much to the frown and annoyance of the older woman — Baghra, Alina had to remind herself.

“You do know—”

“Are you siblings?” Alina interrupted him, a blush spreading across her cheeks for her seeming impertinence, “sorry.”

“Are you saying I look old?” He seemed to smirk even more and Alina shook her head.

“I mean you do look a little worse for wear,” the words just came out as she stared at the tiredness in his eyes, the tightness in which he held his jaw. It loosened as he blinked, letting her words register. It had the woman next to her cackle. “I mean you just look tired maybe you should get some rest.”

“You’re very talkative today.” He commented instead as Baghra led her past him, their eyes connected and she swore that there was grey maybe silver ringing his pupils. At the shooing motion of Baghra’s hand he sighed with one lingering look and walked off, hopefully to get some rest of his own.

“You are lucky, if that boy didn’t lie to the king you’d probably be ordered to start birthing children as soon as you arrived.” Baghra turned with a jut of her chin, “now we begin with getting you trained. I heard you healed his hand and fainted right afterwards. You will fix that and get it under control. Now we begin.”

Training wasn’t easy as Alina had come to find out, Baghra would ask her to just shine like a star like the _sun_ and if she glowed it wasn’t good enough. And if she really pushed it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t bright enough, wasn’t hot enough. The older woman just kept pushing and pushing.

“Dammit,” Alina hissed after two weeks — Baghra wasn’t feeling up to training — so Ivan had waited in the breakfast area, eyes checking every exit and nook like a trained soldier was supposed to before informing the Sankta that she was to watch the soldiers train. She took the code for what it was. After only a few weeks in the palace Alina quickly realized that some of the soldiers' military jackets had a small insignia on the cuff.

Two circles almost overlapping. It was hidden enough that unless you knew to look for it you couldn’t tell it was there. She didn’t know what it meant but it had to do with Aleksander because he only sent soldiers with those jackets for her, he only talked plans with soldiers in those jackets. They looked so much like any other soldier’s jacket that if she didn’t know where to look for that symbol she wouldn’t know who was who.

And so a brown haired soldier who she often had seen talking with Nadia led her to their training area, where Botkin, their instructor, was already showing a new soldier some quick jabs and swift kicks. Alina shuffled from foot to foot hating the feel of her feet in their boots, already with sore feet she was quickly pushed into the ring.

“Dammit,” she hissed again as she felt too tired to properly run a bath or undress.

“Such words for a Sankta.”

She rolled, nearly falling from the edge of the bed to look at Aleksander sitting at her desk, one booted foot crossed over the other. “The king wishes to see us both for dinner tomorrow evening, I don’t think I’ve seen many of us,” his lips pull down. “Dine with him. And the Apparat, he distrusts your legitimacy of sainthood, Sankta. And I will not let you be shipped off into shame. So tonight I ask that you join me for dinner so we can go over any loose ends.”

“I need to bathe.”

“Then hurry, I’ll have Genya come in to help you.” He was up, only pausing to throw her a look before leaving.

Genya poked her head in, a deep frown on her face, she said nothing as Alina stripped and wobbled getting into the tub. Washed and dried and with a brush ran through her hair Alina balked at her reflection. She no longer looked sickly, her face was no longer gaunt and pale, the circles under her eyes vanished. She almost seemed like she could be pretty.

“You’ll piss the queen off when I’m done with you tomorrow, so tonight nothing special.”

“Are you okay?” She tilted her brown eyes up to look at amber ones in the mirror. “I—”

“The queen is just taking dinner out on me even more, though I will say something is going on because the king has forgone bedding me for a couple of days. There you go, enjoy dinner.”

Alina was led, by Genya of all people from the dormitories to the common eating area, confused until Genya pushed her towards a door in the back a round alcove with a set of blackwood double doors.

Before the other could turn Alina quickly grabbed her hand to stop her, “are you not eating with us?”

“No?” She looked surprised at the question, “I have dinner plans of my own since I’m free for the first night in weeks.” It was insinuated with a wink.

“Oh,” Alina frowned, didn’t Genya miss her husband? Unless they spent enough time together before Genya had shown up, a few stolen minutes in the hall. So would she wait until Alina and Aleksander were done eating? Then when the younger woman left would Genya slide past those doors and would Aleksander take her to bed?

“Dinner, Sankta?”

She turned and his dark eyes were on her from where he leaned in the doorway. A curt nod as she followed him in. Her eyes took in the dark wood flooring a closed off curtained bed just out of the way of an office styled open area. The desk was cleared and two steaming bowls of solyanka sat each graced by a glass and to the side a bottle of kvas.

Being the gentleman of the evening he did push in her chair once she sat in it.

“Do you not like your boots?” He made for a conversation starter as he sat, reaching for the bottle to pour them each half a glass.

“I never wore shoes in the temple, a saint must walk the earth as the gods intended. If I were to wear shoes then it would mean I was above the lesser creatures that had to taste the dirt.” She tucked into her soup, eyeing his face as he gave a small smile.

“That’s a long winded way of saying that they make you uncomfortable.” He took a sip from the glass and then dug into his own soup.

“I asked Genya if she would like to join us. I feel bad that I’m monopolizing all your time.” Alina wiped at her mouth with a napkin and took a drink, “really, you’ve been—”

“I don’t see what eating dinner with me has to do with her. Though with the King very preoccupied she’s had more time to spend with David. So that’s why after dinner tomorrow she—”

“David?” Her glass clanked on the desk, “so what is this she gets to go around and you do to? You know I would think one would get jeal—”

“I don’t get jealous, and two, Genya and David are married. Secretly so the king doesn’t know.” His dark eyes looked into hers and that silver ring seemed to be spreading, cracking through the black of his irises, “you thought that Genya and I? No, we—” he paused to take a bite and chewed. “We ran into each other some years ago and when I came to the palace and became the King’s advisor for war I had her brought with me. To attend to the Queen.”

Alina blushed, furious with herself, “well, David must be nice. And you— do you?”

“Are we here to talk about fairytale romances or about what is going to await you, Sankta, tomorrow at dinner. The king will ask you to give him children. That thought is still there possibly, you say no and he will force you. So you must keep up an appearance that you will lose your powers and communication with the gods if you bear a child.” She pushed her bowl away disgusted at his words.

“You sound like Ana Kuya, I had to hide when I got my monthlies. Because as Sankta Lumo I wasn’t supposed to get them. Saints don’t bleed, I’m starting to think that everyone is confusing being a saint with a god.” Her hands came down on the wood, “I bleed, I cry, I have dreams. I am a person. I wish I never took up the Duke on his offer. I could have had a normal life.”

She knew she was getting flustered but the thought of acting like she did in the temple after being brought to freedom? Repulsive. Having to act above everyone.

“Acting as if you are above the king could save your life.” He was up moving around to stand next to her. Rubbing her neck when he got close, all the tension had gone with that touch. “I’ll let Baghra know that you’ll be resting tomorrow, after dinner please get some rest. You will need it, the king is simple and won’t be as inquisitive but not only will that bumbling priest be on his guard there is the hint that the king may still want to take you to bed.”

“Why?”

Why she was just a person, but at the question his eyes darkened as they ghosted to the door, wary that someone could be standing on the other side. He leaned in close enough that his forehead rested on hers, his eyes closed and even his own shoulders relaxed a little.

“Because, Alina, children from you could become weapons or rally people to fight for Ravka to protect their beloved Sankta.” As if pulled by that same force that tied around him, the red strings bound them together and his lips fit against hers.


End file.
